So it wasn’t until they’d already left that I glanced at my brother and noticed the expression on his face.
He took a sip of his coffee, then dropped the cup back on the saucer. “What?” He stared back at me.
“That girl— What was her name? You like her.”
He flushed. “Who said that?”
I pointed at the top of his shirt, where red splotches marched upward from his chest to start their onslaught of his face. “You’re blushing.”
He put a hand on his neck, as if this might conceal the pink. “It’s not like that with us.”
The café’s windows were fogged with steam. I peered out to see if I could catch a better look at the mystery girl, but she and her mother had already disappeared around the corner. “So how is it, then?”
“I dunno.” He smiled to himself, and slid down in his chair so that his legs stuck out into the aisle, blocking the path of everyone walking by. “She’s smart and she doesn’t take shit from anyone. And she makes me laugh. She’s not like other people. She doesn’t care who our family is.”
I laughed. “That’s what you think. Everyone has an opinion about our family. Some people are just better at hiding it.”
He scowled at me. “And you like that, don’t you, Vanessa? You like people paying attention to you because you’re rich and pretty and your family is supposedly important, don’t you? Honestly, though, don’t you ever want people to look at you and just see a person, instead of a Liebling?”
I knew the correct answer was Yes, of course. But the truth was that I didn’t. I liked hiding behind the name Liebling. Because honestly, what would people see if they did look past it? A girl of no particular ability, no particular brilliance, no particular beauty; someone fun to have at the party but not someone meaningful. A person skating on top of the successes of the people who had come before her. I knew that about myself: I knew I didn’t have something powerful inside me, something compelling me toward greatness. I had only good enough.
(Oh, you’re surprised by this little streak of self-awareness? Just because I’m rich and pretty and Internet-famous doesn’t mean that I haven’t spent my time loathing myself. More on this later.)
What I did have: a name that meant that this didn’t matter, in the grand scheme of things. I could earn a 3.4 GPA and still get into Princeton, because of my family. So yes, I liked being a Liebling. (Wouldn’t you?) The only person in the world whose impression of me wasn’t ever going to be the least bit impacted by my last name was the person sitting next to me, the person who shared that name. Benny.
“Whatever, doofus. If you think she’s so great, maybe you should ask her out.” I put down my cappuccino and leaned in. “Seriously. If you like her, make a move. She wouldn’t be hanging out with you all the time if she didn’t like you, too.”
“But Mom says—”
“To hell with them. What do they have to do with it? Please. Just…kiss her if you like her. I guarantee she’ll be into it.” What I didn’t say: Of course she’ll be into it, she’ll be kissing a millionaire! Even if she pretends that’s not an aphrodisiac, I promise you it’s got an appeal that she is not immune to.
He squirmed a little. “It’s not that easy.”
“It is that easy. Look—have a drink first, sometimes that helps. Liquid courage.”
“No, I mean, it’s not so easy because I’m grounded. As of two days ago. Mom and Dad said I’m not allowed to see her anymore.”
“Wait, why?”
He spun the empty cup in the saucer and it splattered dregs of coffee across the chipped café table. “They found my pot stash and blamed it on her. They think she’s a bad influence.”
“And? Is she?” I reconsidered the girl’s black clothes, heavy makeup, the pink hair. It was true she didn’t exactly give off that wholesome-Tahoe-mountain-girl vibe.
“They don’t know her at all.”